


Smoke and Mirrors

by tatterwitch



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Witch Keith (Voltron), witch shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: “You wanna talk about it?”“Not really, no.” He wanted to think some more. Or maybe not at all. Everything was falling apart. The seams of the world were fraying, threads unwinding with every new revelation.Keith made a noise, something understanding and quiet. His hand drifted between them, blunt hanging from long fingers. The end still glowed, little flecks of amber dancing in the shadows.“Sure you don’t want a hit?”





	Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an hour late but happy Weed Day, y'all. 
> 
> Also, for the Nice FBI CIA Secret Agent Man surely spying on me; I do not know a gotdamn thing about the Devil's Leaf.

“You wanted to talk.”

 

Keith dropped his bag onto the desk. The battered thing leaned, frayed seams threatening to give with the slightest pressure. Patches of electrical tape wound around one loop. The gummy plastic had peeled back in some spots. 

 

A hazy bag half-full of something earthy and green landed on the desk. Keith pushed his backpack to the floor. It landed with a loud noise; cans of spray paint rattling together. The poor thing drooped over, zipper falling open sadly. 

 

Keith pulled a little slip of brown paper from his wallet and lifted it. His tongue ran over it, red from the spicy candy he’d been munching on during their walk. 

 

What would he taste like? Cinnamon. Sugar. Coffee, maybe. 

 

Keith glanced up, one brow lifting at Shiro’s prolonged silence. Long fingers worked deftly. Shiro swallowed and tried to pull his mind back the matter at hand.

 

“You live here?”

 

That wasn’t what he’d meant to ask. But it gave him cause to look everywhere but at Keith.

 

The room was absurdly small. Shiro’s guest bedroom was three times the size. The walls were an off-white, bricks chipped in spots so the muddy red peeked through. A calendar from the restaurant below hung from a corkboard covered in a mess of photographs, newspaper clippings, and what looked like pages ripped from old books. 

 

A nest of ripped and faded cloth had been made in a lopsided cardboard box. A set of empty tins rested beside the makeshift cat-bed. One was half-full of water. Keith’s familiar, though, was nowhere in sight.

 

“More or less.” Keith set his work down and stood, reaching for the window over the bed.

 

The latch squeaked, sound making Shiro wince. Warm air scented with sesame oil and exhaust breezed in. The papers on the corkboard rustled softly.

 

Keith fiddled with his lighter before letting the flame catch the tip of the rolled paper. He held the blunt out in the space between them. 

 

“Want the first hit?”

 

“What? Oh, no, thank you.”

 

Keith shrugged, one corner of his mouth pulling up a little before he settled the blunt between his lips. The end flared bright, amber and gold in the half-lit room. Keith’s eyes closed a little, lashes fluttering down. He seemed to hold his breath for a moment before exhaling. Smoke curled from between his lips, all at once fragrant and pungent. 

 

Shiro now had a name for that scent that clung to Keith’s jacket seams. He pushed that thought away.

 

“The warding you use isn’t anything I’ve seen before.”

 

Keith huffed a little. One shoulder lifted, the collar of his shirt bagging a little. One collarbone protruded unevenly after Keith relaxed. An old break, probably. Shiro frowned. It hadn’t healed right.

 

“Probably because I made it up.”

 

Shiro blinked. Wards required strong magic. Stronger magic still when used to the scale Keith did. Wards were stringent. They were all similar, no matter the culture or practitioner. Except for Keith’s. Everything about Keith’s magic was...Unusual. 

 

Shiro wasn’t sure of anything anymore, though. He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair tiredly. Nothing was as it seemed. 

 

“Hey,” Keith’s voice had softened a little.

 

Shiro glanced up, breath catching a bit at the sudden shortened distance between them. 

 

“You okay?” Keith’s hand hovered in the space between them. Almost like he’d been intent on touching Shiro’s shoulder. His hand fell back into his lap. 

 

Shiro laughed a little. It was a rough noise that was more sigh than anything. His head ached. 

 

“I-” Shiro shook his head. “Not really, no.”

 

Keith’s head tilted a bit. His brows furrowed before he took another hit.

 

“You wanna talk about it?” 

 

“Not really, no.” He wanted to think some more. Or maybe not at all. Everything was falling apart. The seams of the world were fraying, threads unwinding with every new revelation. 

 

Keith made a noise, something understanding and quiet. His hand drifted between them, blunt hanging from long fingers. The end still glowed, little flecks of amber dancing in the shadows. 

 

“Sure you don’t want a hit?”

 

A dismissal bubbled to the tip of Shiro’s tongue but he hesitated. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe it’d smooth the ragged edges of his thoughts. 

 

“I’ve never smoked before.”

 

Keith smiled a little. 

 

“Everyone’s gotta have a first time for everything.”

 

There was something in the words and in Keith’s voice that made heat trip down Shiro’s spine. 

 

“Maybe…” Keith lifted himself off of his chair a bit and pulled himself into Shiro’s space. “There’s not much left. We could shotgun.”

 

“I don’t know what that means.”

 

That little smile grew. Keith’s chair-legs juddered against the floor. Knees clad in ripped denim knocked against Shiro’s. 

 

“Basically,” Keith settled again, less than a foot between them, now. “I take a hit. You come really close. And when I exhale, you inhale.”

 

The warmth in Shiro’s veins sparked. He swallowed hard. 

 

“All right.”

 

Keith lifted the blunt. His lips pursed around the paper, pink and chapped. His lids were heavy, lashes shadowing his eyes and making them seem more midnight blue than violet. There was an uneven tan across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose; almost like he’d covered his face with a bandanna or respirator. 

 

Those pink lips opened and smoke curled into the scant space between them. Shiro breathed deep, trying to ignore the burning tickle that crawled up the back of his throat. He lost the battle, turning away to cough. When he turned back, Keith was grinning at him, eyes hazy and dark. Something in Shiro’s chest fluttered.

 

The second and third times were better. He didn’t cough again. The smoke curled warm and heavy in his lungs. His eyes had closed at some point. 

 

A car honked in the distance. The papers on the corkboard rustled. The chair creaked quietly. Keith breathed deep.

 

Shiro exhaled sharply as a nose bumped against his. Warm, soft lips pressed against his own. Smoke curled past his teeth and rolled over his tongue. Calloused fingertips ghosted along his jaw before falling away. 

 

“‘Kay?” 

 

Keith’s voice was all smoke and rasp that made Shiro’s skin sing and his belly hollow. He could still feel the ghost of Keith’s fingers on his cheek. 

 

“Shiro?”

 

He wanted. He wanted those fingers on his face again. In his hair. On his skin. Wanted those lips against his again-

 

Something clattered in the window.

 

Shiro’s eyes flew open. Magic zipped beneath his skin, electric and bright. 

 

The glass rattled at another impact from a tiny, gingery body. Notched ears flicked with displeasure as Keith swore and moved for the latch. Yellow eyes narrowed at Shiro through the dingy panes. 

 

Keith muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “ _ Fucking cockblocker _ ”. 

 

The cat swatted at Keith’s hand with a hearty hiss before skulking over to the tins beside the box with the nest. 

 

Keith sighed, fishing a fresh tin of tuna from his bag. 

 

“Shiro, this is my familiar, Red. She’s an asshole to everyone. Don’t let it get to you.”

  
  
  



End file.
